


Fatal Error

by slushieSkank



Category: OFF (Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 22:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2748665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slushieSkank/pseuds/slushieSkank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your system has suffered a fatal error. Please reboot the game and try again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fatal Error

Something had gone wrong.  
They can't place quite what, but it has to be something.

The individual sits quietly in the hallway just outside the Director's office on the floor, with their back to the door, facing the side wall. Before them rests their charge, their Puppet, broken and crumpled, the being with whom they had been given the task of seeing his Holy Mission through to completion. He doesn't seem to be breathing, and there's an incredible amount of blood. It stands out harshly against the acidic green of the room, running in small rivulets to the liquid plastic just under the ledge next to the two of them, trailing away into the clear endless pool.

They study the corpse quietly, chin resting on their clasped fists, elbows resting on knees, and try to come up with an answer. What could have happened? They had lost battles before, to be sure, but it had never taken so long for the engulfing comfort of the void of Game Over to overwhelm them. They had lost battles before, some honorably, and some due to simple mistakes, but nothing had been going wrong in this last fight. Their victory had seemed a certainty until suddenly it wasn't, until suddenly there had been nothing but pain, and red.

By all accounts it didn't make sense. No single blow should have held that much power, or perhaps it was that they were simply too weak? As the Puppeteer, it w as their job to be the strategist, to come up with the best plan to blaze a path to triumph. So it must have been their error, right? Not enough Jokers, maybe, or Fortune Tickets. Perhaps they should have used Special Homerun instead of Save Third Base. Perhaps they should have put more focus on Epsilon or less focus on Delta. Perhaps less focus on competences in general and more of an aggressive approach. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

It had to have been their error because they would not- could not- accept it as anything else. They physically did not have the capacity to even consider any sort of other possibilities. That maybe nothing had gone wrong on their end, that maybe, their file was corrupt, that maybe the game's coding had been tampered with. Because considering this eventuality meant bringing into question the possibility that they had failed in their mission, had come to a point where progress ceased to be a thing.

How long had they been there, sitting like this, the two of them? It was hard to say. Minutes, days, weeks, seconds. Time didn't matter here. Occasionally elsen would bypass behind their back, and once or twice the baritone movements of the Director himself. The first time he emerged he'd stopped to take note of the corner-bound pair. A brief pause- perhaps he was going to speak- but then nothing, and he'd gone.

And now they're here, waiting, and deciding. A writing utensil would probably be useful, if they could find one. A chance to draw out and categorize and make maps and charts, something to occupy their time with until the Batter wakes up again. But of course, they won't move away, even for a second, in case he awakens while they're away. That would be terrible, certainly. So they have no choice but to wait.

He'll re-spawn any moment now, they're sure of it. Patience is all that's required. Eventually he'll awaken, the pull of the strings would once again grow taught, and the two of them would continue on with their mission. The Director would pay for his trespass against them, and they would move on to whatever was awaiting them after this place was pure. Until then, they'll keep waiting. Waiting.

Keep waiting. Waiting and waiting. And waiting.

Waiting. W̜a̚i͢ťi̞n͝gͣ.̉ T͌h̟e͚y̤'͝l̔l̿ ͢ḵe̱ĕp̀ ͜w͟ǎi͚t̞i͐n͖g̵.̪ W̪̥̾ȧ͓̻i̵̋͂t͛̑̆ ̨͒͌w᷂͈͞á̺̯i̓᷈̎ ̢᷉̾w͐̏ͣa᷂ͤ͐i̸̢̭t͇͊͟i̸ͫ̋ ̮̊͢t͖͊͗i̡̔̈́ ̸̪́tͪ̈́̒i̤̦͎̔̒̌ͅn᷿̭᷈ ᷂̪᷄ ̲̂͡n̛ͨ̽g͖᷇͆g͚̱̑n̡͒̓g̷͑ͯ.͕͊̆ W̶̴̵̨͈͈̠̤͖̲̟̟͔̩͙̟̫ͨ̂̀̒͗ͮ́ͮ̎̒̊̑̎̔̓̒ͣ̍᷉᷅̒ͤ͂᷀̀̒͑ͮ̋͊̈́̒̒ͦ͗ͦ̒ͧ̒ͭ͒͘̕̕͞͠a̵̡̧̛̫͚̹᷊̝̳̮̖̱̙̻̺᷿̰̰̻̰̤᷿᷂̮̻̞͇̟̒̒ͫ̅᷾̒͊͐̇̒̐ͭ̒ͮ᷅̌̒̄͑᷈͆̒̓̉̀̐̒ͯ̚̚̕̚͢͞ ̴̶̢̩̞̰̫̦̞̼̟̗̳̳̥̞̼͓̩̲̏ͯ̒̍̏̒᷀ͫ̎̔̒̄᷈͛̇̒̅̒ͨ̋̔͗̍̒᷅᷁͋̍̒ͧͯ͛̇̒ͬ̒ͯ̏̒͢͞͡ͅw̴̸̵̛᷿̬͉͎̼̙̘̞̜̞̟̪̯͎͕͙͚̻̮ͦ͗̒͋᷇ͥͨ̒ͮ̌̅̒̐᷃ͬͤ̒̒̏᷀̾̒͑̈̒ͮ̂͑᷆ͦ͌̒ͭ̐̒ͤ᷈̚͢͝ạ̴̶̵̴̢̢̢̛͕͙̖͈͎᷊̼̳᷂᷊̞͕͔̟͈̟̬͓̔̒ͬ᷆̋᷈̒̽̊́̒᷆ͪ᷇̒́̓ͥ̒᷈͛̒̇̏ͫ̒̂ͨ̒᷁͑̚̕̕ͅͅi̷̢̝̰̣̖͇͙̻͔͈̜᷊͔͈͒ͦ̒᷇᷁̌̔ͪ̒̆᷀̎̍̒ͥͣ᷈̇̒̓͒ͧ̈ͭ̒̓́ͩ᷆᷇̒̍᷈̅̅͊̒̚͢͞͏̶̛̱̫̈̒͞ ̴̡̡̧̬̥̙̠̯̞᷿̝̠̯̳̹̖͇̞͙̻̻͍̣̹̥̓͒̒̓͌͊̒᷆ͮ̒̊̿̏̒̎̈᷉̒̆͂͊̄̈́̒᷇̒᷈͛ͨͥ̒͋̚͘̚͜ͅw̷̶̢̡̖̝̦͍̜̯᷿̲̭̙̻̝͖̮͙̹̫̥̜᷿̗̤̒᷆͑̒̾͒̅̒̄ͪͮ̒᷄̒̍̒ͣ͐᷈̒͊ͤ̈́̏̒᷆᷉ͭ᷄̒̃̒ͬ̚͠͡͞ạ̛̮̞̬̪͓͙͙̮̤̹̯̘̗̤̟̑ͮ̒᷀̇̅̒͊̐ͫ̒͐ͫ̅̏̒ͬ̍ͮ᷀̒̍̾̈̆̒͂͂͒᷇̒ͤ᷁̄᷈ͬ̈́̒ͣ̏͋͂̚̕͝͞͞͠͞͏͎̒͑̉į̸̹͈̟̝̯̳̦͖̖͔̻̫̗̺̥ͣ̎᷃̒᷃᷅̿̽̒̒̔͑̀̄͛̒᷅̔̇̒ͨ̔͒̓̉̒᷆᷁̒ͦ͑̃̑̒᷆͒̈̔̀ͫ̒̏̀̕͘͡t̮̯̥̘͍̹͌ͥ̒̓̋̒̊͏̸̴᷊̤̪̰͔̰̖̣͈̻͖̿̀̀̒̑̎̽̎͂̒͂̎᷀̒͊͌ͦ͒̎̒ͭͦͭͩͪͪ̒̾͑᷇̒᷄̿̚͝ͅ ̷̳͈̱̘̭͕᷿̳͇̞̗͎̜ͭ̒̈́̐̍̈ͮ̒͌̈́͌̒̂ͣͫ̈̒᷁̀̒̿̃͢ͅ͏̡̡̥᷂̪͔͍᷊͓̣̑᷄ͭ̒̇̀̒̔͐̈̒᷁͘͢ẘ̨̩͉̳̼̽̒ͭ̌͂ͥ̎̆̿̒͂̍̒̒᷇͘͏̨̛͈̹͍᷂̟͕͚̮͙̮̫̽̃̒ͩ̓ͣ᷀̔̒̍̉̑̉̒᷀ͩ͗᷈̒͋̒͒̍̒̚͟͞ä̴̵̖̱̥̜̜̦᷊͚͓̦͈̪̖̲̦̱̪̪̠̬͎̒͐ͤ͆̒̈́̉͒᷾ͯ᷉̒᷁̐̎̊̒᷾̿ͨ̒ͯ᷃̒ͯ̀᷆̅͂̒̒᷁͘͢͢͟͞ͅͅaͤͯ͏̷̴̝̺̹̬͖͖̹͎͔̗͈̬̳̯̮̰͎̯̒̂͒̾̏ͪ̒̓͗͑̒̑̃̒ͣͮ̒ͩ̀̃᷾̒͂̅͛̏̒̐᷉̈᷀̒͗̊̚̕̕̚͟͠ą̷̸̴̢̨̝̖̞̹᷂͍̩̲̭̞̞͓͓̮͇̳ͨ̒᷃̽̈́̂̃̒ͯͪ̊ͩ̒̍̀̏͐ͮ̒̽̒̄᷀ͪ̒ͩ͑᷈ͮ̒͐᷀̈́̒ͮ̕͘͝͝͝͠ą̧͎̲͓̠͕͚͎̝̣̭̮̺̙͚̲̜ͩ͛̒̒͑᷈̊̒̇̍̆̒̒̂͛̒̀̅͌ͬ̒͌̄ͪ͘͜͢͡͠͏̶̧̛᷊̭̫͎̞̤̍̊̿̒̀̀̆̒̃̏̈̒͞͡a̸̵̡̨̛̠̺̼̺̫̦͍᷊̬̱᷃᷆̒᷅᷾̽̓̐̒̋͗̒̈̄̒̓̒̚͢͡͠͏̸̞̤͙͇̻̏ͨ̿̒̋̈ͨ᷾̒᷄᷉̕͟͞͏̒͑̔̚͟ḁ̴̧͙̺͇̥̼̘̟͙̲̃᷅͆̒͗ͦ̃ͯ̒᷾͆̄̒̒̾͊͗̅ͥ̒ͥͨ̆̐̒͊͝͝͞͏̵̩̼̺͉᷿̜̲̋̒ͮ͂̍̒᷅ͤͫ̓̒͘̕ă̸̷̛̜̝̺̈́̒͒̉͛̒̍ͥ̔ͫ̒ͩ᷉͠͡͡͏̴̛̞̣̞̬̻᷿͚ͤ̒̄̇ͪͦ̒̇̓̀̅ͭ̒̐ͧͧͥ̒ͩ͊᷅̒̆̎͘͟͜͞͡ͅå̵̸̢̛͙͖̤̬̰̺̝̩̳̝̦̤̙᷂̳̗̠᷊̭͕̲͎͇̥̒ͮ͌̒ͮ̃̒́᷁̒̃᷈͑ͩ͋̒ͤ̔͐̒͌ͭ͗̆̒᷁᷈̋̒͟͟͢͜͝a̴̷̛̛͇͎̖̲͚̮̗̹̠͖̩͕͉͍̝̳̹͎͉͎̒͋̂́̆̒͛̑̉̈́̿̒̂̀̒̍̐͂̒̎̐ͬ̒ͥ̄ͤ̈̒᷁̐̿᷀̒̕͟͢͞͝͠a̶̷̴̷̵̡̧̧̛̬᷿͍͉͚̙̯̞̻̱̝᷿͉᷿͚͋̍̒̃ͣ͑͆ͮ̒̈́͆ͮ̒᷃ͥ᷅̒ͬͬ̄̉̿͐̒̒̽ͮ̒̒᷈᷾̔̾̒͗̕͘͜͠a̢̢̡̛̟̰̣̱͚̳̳͍̞̣̝̫͙̥᷊̞̖̹̣̒̏̉̈̊̌᷉̒ͩ̓̒ͣ̌᷾̒᷁͊̋᷁ͭ̒᷅ͬ̓ͨ̒᷇̔̇̒ͯ̆ͬ̌̒́͒ͧ̚͡ą̵̵̵̨̡̧̨̨̛̘͈᷂͉̘̰͎̙̗᷂͎͚̹̻̹̮͓᷁̈́̒͗ͪ̊̒̒̃̒̾̒̊̈̒͆͑͂̒̓̊᷀̓̒͂̔ͯ̒̍ͫ̚͢͡͞͠ͅą̸͉̣̞͎̱᷿͎͕̞̹͖̣̜̝᷂̜̼̰͇͙̻ͣͨ̒ͧ᷆ͪ̒͑̉᷃̉̽̒̒ͫ̃̃̒ͯ͌ͯ̿̒ͨ͆̒᷇͛̇᷅̒ͩ̅̒̐᷾͘͜͝͞ā̴̵̴̡̛̱̻̰̘̰̻̟̗̥͍᷊͈̮̱̲͚̻̗̖̤᷇̒᷾̑ͧ᷆᷉́̒́͗̒᷄̀̽͂̒̅ͣ̒᷇᷈ͣͧ᷉̒̽̈́̋͋̒̔̒̇̂ͬ͢

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> Your system has suffered a fatal error. Please reboot the game and try again_

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this tumblr post:  
> http://askthecakeboss.tumblr.com/post/68368679250/he-should-still-be-in-front-of-my-office-if-you  
> I wrote everything up to the final two paragraphs at once then stopped, so I forgot how I had originally meant to end this, but I'm sick of looking at it, so I just slapped an ending on and decided 'y'know what merry early Christmas ao3 let's do sads.'  
> I may go back and change the ending in the event that I remember how I wanted it to go.


End file.
